At All Costs
by usa123
Summary: When Rittenhouse attacks Mason Industries, one member of the Time Team is left fighting for his or her life. No Season Two spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

The linen closet was cold, dark, and extremely small: three of Lucy Preston's least favorite things.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been trapped here since her concept of time had turned rather fluid after the Rittenhouse breach. Worse yet, she had no idea what had happened to the rest of her team. There had been no public broadcasts, no demands for Lucy's life in exchange for theirs, and no one getting on the PA and pleading for Lucy to turn herself in. At the moment, all she could do was hope her friends were still alive and trust that Wyatt's plan was going to work.

She and Wyatt had started off together but then Wyatt had opted to serve as a distraction so Lucy could get to safety. She'd objected of course but he'd refused to listen.

Which left her alone in the linen closet in the basement, the gun he'd given her sitting on the ground below her knees. Not for the first time, she prayed she wouldn't have to use it. Not again.

As if on cue, the unwanted memories of 1861 came flashing back—James clutching at his chest before collapsing; Bass disarming Wyatt who was still wearing that stunned expression, both confused and disapproving; the harsh judgement on Bass' face when he'd looked back up at her—and the already small closet shrank another few inches in size.

Lucy's heart picked up its already quick pace while her breaths turned shorter and choppier. She fumbled with the bulletproof vest, trying to free her burning ribcage and get some much needed air into her lungs. Spots were dancing in front of her eyes and Lucy knew she wasn't far from passing out when she heard the door in the outer room bang open.

In that instant, the world shifted into hyper-clarity. Somehow able to breathe again, Lucy scrambled for the gun and pressed back against the wall so she had space to steady the grip on her knee. Her hands still shook slightly, making her wonder if she'd be able to actually hit anything, but she quickly pushed that thought away and aimed the gun at the door to the linen closet.

She wasn't going with Rittenhouse to play out her "destiny". Not without a fight.

* * *

 _30 minutes earlier…_

The New Years' Eve party at Mason Industries was in full swing by 8 p.m. Employees and their families milled about the bottom two floors, some dancing in a hangar that had been cleared of all its classified content while others feasted on the elaborately catered dinner Mason provided. This year Connor had gone all out to combat the falling stock prices and investigations the company had been put through. He too was at the party and was personally assuring everyone he passed that last six months had been nothing but a small speed bump in his five year plan.

"The future is bright!" he'd promised yet again before raising his glass in a toast.

Four people, though, weren't celebrating. They were huddled in a conference room on the other side of the floor, learning about a Rittenhouse plot to abduct Lucy.

"When?" Wyatt asked as he silently cursed the fact that he'd listened to Christopher and left his shoulder holster at home. _There's more than enough security,_ she had said, handing him a thick pile of workups, _just come and relax for once._ After vetting the security guards himself and checking the additional security measures, Wyatt had reluctantly agreed. To her credit, the party had been going remarkably well, living up to every story Rufus and Jiya had been telling for the last month, until Christopher had texted him, Lucy and Rufus to meet her here.

"We don't know," the Homeland Agent now replied. Then she glanced at her phone, as if hoping it would chirp with the answer. To no one's surprise though, it remained silent.

"How credible is your intel?"

"Very."

Wyatt turned to check on Lucy, who was sitting in a swivel chair with her knees tucked up to her chin, expression blank, breathing regular, and eyes clear. She was either going into shock or completely desensitized to the news she'd just received; Wyatt wasn't sure which one he'd prefer.

He had just opened his mouth to begin planning how she'd be staying with one of them, how she wouldn't go anywhere unaccompanied, and how they'd get through this together, when the power cut out.

Wyatt was at Lucy's side in an instant, his senses on high alert as he tried to discern an impending threat. His fingers dug grooves into the back of her chair and he was ready to move them both at the slightest provocation. "I don't suppose that's because of the music?" he ground out.

There was a flurry of noises from Rufus' direction before his face was illuminated by his phone's screen. "No idea. But the emergency power should be coming back on soon."

Sure enough, the yellow back-up lights flickered on not long after, allowing Wyatt to see Lucy's pale face, eyes wide in fear. "We won't let them get you," he vowed, which earned him a watery smile from the historian.

Before she could reply though, footsteps thundered down the hallway and Wyatt heard the sound of a slide being ratcheted. He looked left to see Christopher training her service weapon at the door; she obviously hadn't taken her own advice.

Christopher had just stepped in front of the three of them when the person in the hallway began shouting for everyone to remain calm, that they'd just blown a fuse and that would be back up and running in no time.

And Wyatt relaxed—slightly. Apparently, even Mason with all his money and influence wasn't immune to the occasional power outage.

"And there we go," Rufus said, "Just a normal, everyday—"

He was interrupted by an earsplitting shriek coming from the direction of the dance floor that quickly grew in force as more voices chimed in.

Wyatt had pulled Lucy to her feet almost before he realized it. "We have to get you out of here," he stated as he heard a muffled crash, then more shouts.

"Rufus too," Christopher interjected. "They may be looking for another pilot." She reached down then pulled out an ankle gun before handing Wyatt her main service weapon.

The soldier accepted immediately, feeling vastly more comfortable with the weight of the gun in his hands. "You should come with us, ma'am," he said as he stepped toward the door.

He pressed his ear against the doorjamb but didn't hear any approaching footfalls. "Lucy, Rufus, stay behind me. On three—"

"I'm not leaving Jiya."

Wyatt glanced over his shoulder to find Rufus standing a few steps away, arms crossed over his chest for emphasis.

"Rufus, you don't have a choice."

The pilot just set his jaw. "I do. I'm not leaving without her."

Wyatt was about to object again when Christopher spoke up. "I'll take Rufus back to the main area and he'll rendezvous with you at the safe house once they're both out of here."

"Ma'am, I really think you should—"

Christopher's lips pressed together in a bloodless facsimile of a smile. "You know I can't do that. Michelle is out there."

Despite how much he wanted to, Wyatt instinctively knew he wasn't going to change their minds. He nodded and turned to look at Lucy. "We'll go on three okay? Stay as close as you can behind me."

She returned his nod, then turned to Rufus. "Be careful okay?"

"No hero-in-a-hoodie stuff," Wyatt couldn't help but add. "Get Jiya and Michelle and get out."

"You don't have to worry about that," Rufus said, stepping into place behind Christopher, who stood with Wyatt by the door, her ankle gun held at the ready.

Wyatt waited until he received a nod from Christopher before he popped open the door. The two shot out into the hallway, cleared it, then motioned for Rufus and Lucy to follow them.

Lucy and Wyatt peeled off to the right, heading for the exits in the back of the building, while Rufus and Christopher went left, back toward the party.

"Do you have service?" Wyatt asked as they hurried down the hall.

Lucy pulled her phone from her pocket, barely catching it as it slid through her shaking fingers. "No," she said, once she'd managed to power on the screen.

"Then they're jamming us. We'll try a landline."

Lucy could do nothing but nod in response. Then she slipped her phone back in the pocket of her skirt and returned her focus to not tripping in her heels, which hadn't been designed with silent running in mind.

The two had just reached the far end of the hallway when they heard a spray of gunfire. The historian immediately spun around and headed back the way they'd come. "We have to go back for them," she said as she picked up her pace.

"Lucy," Wyatt hissed, sprinting around her and grabbing her upper arm. "We can't. We have to keep moving."

Lucy just dug in her heels, keeping Wyatt from tugging her away from her friends, who were in danger because of her. "We can't let them kill our friends."

 _Keep moving,_ Wyatt's training screamed, but he knew they weren't going to be able to get away quietly if Lucy was this resistant. So, he too stopped and turned back so he could look her in the eye. "Christopher is on it, so is the massive security detail she hired. They'll be okay. But right now, we need to get you out of here. We can't let Rittenhouse get to you."

"But Wyatt—"

"I don't like it any more than you do but we don't know what could happen in the past or future if Rittenhouse gets you. It's not a chance we can take."

It took her a painfully long minute, during which Wyatt was aware of every click of the heater, every creak of the floor, the screams from the other side of the building, before Lucy spoke up. "Fine. But we need to find an office first, to call for help."

"Already on it."

* * *

Unfortunately this corner of Mason Industries housed the labs that required badge swipes and fingerprint scans for entrance. Wyatt and Lucy didn't even try to open those, instead heading for the exit just around the corner. Though the exit door was in sight, Lucy stayed behind Wyatt, having seen enough movies to know it might be rigged somehow. She would defer to Wyatt's expertise to determine whether it was a valid exit option.

The soldier motioned for Lucy to stay back then crept forward in a half-crouch. Just shy of the door, he stopped and carefully examined it. It was a non-emergency exit, which meant there would be no alarm to give away their position of they could in fact get out, and there didn't appear to be any trip wires. Wyatt then pressed himself against the wall and popped the push bar with a quick backward slap of his hand. The bar depressed but the door didn't move at all. Wyatt gave it a beat, then pushed away from the wall and kicked at the bar. He continued with the motion so he ended up on the far side of the door.

Despite his efforts, the door still hadn't budged.

Wyatt didn't seem concerned and just motioned for Lucy to follow him as he began to walk along the wall in a crouched position.

Despite the fact Lucy was in dress shoes, it didn't take her long to catch up to him. "Where are we going?" she whispered once she was an arm's length away.

"Since the exits are out, we need weapons—well, _more_ weapons," he amended as he hefted Christopher's Glock.

It was then that Lucy realized Wyatt wasn't carrying any guns of his own. "You didn't bring _your_ gun?"

"I was told not to," Wyatt retorted as he whipped around a corner, cleared it, then crept forward. "Not that it does us a lot of good, but there's a backup in my truck."

"Does Mason even have any guns around here?"

"No, but Christopher does. There's a safe in her office. Combination is the birthdays of her wife and kids."

Lucy didn't have time to wonder how Wyatt knew that. "So we get up to the third floor, get you another gun, then what?"

"Get you down to the basement."

Before Lucy could respond, they'd arrived at a stairwell. Wyatt threw himself against the wall and waved for Lucy to do the same. He then did the same maneuver he'd done with the exit but this time, the door easily swung open. Even though there was no gunfire and no Rittenhouse agent throwing himself through the doorway, Wyatt waited an achingly long moment before leading the way into the staircase.

He crept up the steps slowly, swinging his gun between the second floor landing and the door they just came through, while Lucy hovered as close as she could to him in order to be out of the line of fire.

Fortunately, they reached the third floor without running into any trouble. Wyatt again motioned for her to stay back while he cleared the hallway before they proceeded to Christopher's office.

Once inside, Lucy headed straight for the desk phone.

"Line's dead," she reported when she heard only silence on the other end.

The soldier didn't even look up from the dial of the in-wall safe hidden in a fake drawer. "It was worth a shot."

Then Wyatt was standing beside her again, pressing a gun into her hand. She recoiled, memories of the Jesse James' corpse, the blood spurting from the surprisingly large hole in his chest as he collapsed. It was on her hands, her dress, despite her attempts to wash them off. She was standing in the MI locker room, steam rising from the sink as she scrubbed and scrubbed—

Vaguely Lucy heard someone speaking—a voice she recognized—but it took her a long time to hone in on it. When she refocused, Wyatt was staring at her. His face pinched with concern even in the low emergency lighting. "You back with me?"

Not trusting her throat to produce sounds, Lucy just nodded.

Wyatt looked back down at the gun, which was still resting in her upturned hand. "I'm sorry Luce," he said, resting his hand on top of the gun, his fingers just brushing her palm, "but if we get separated, I need to know you can protect yourself."

Lucy swallowed hard, channeled her inner voice of reason, then slowly wrapped her fingers around the grip of the gun. The metal was uncomfortably heavy in her hand and if she hadn't known better, she could have sworn it was hot to the touch.

Wyatt watched her for another moment before stepping back, slinging on a shoulder holster, quickly adjusting it, then filling it with two guns. He then proceeded to stuff his pockets full of spare magazines.

"You still with me?" he asked, head tilting back over his shoulder.

"Yeah," Lucy replied softly as she rearranged the gun in her grip and pointed it at the ground like Wyatt had taught her to, what seemed like ages ago.

"The only staircase to the elevator is on the east side of the building, through the employee quarters. It requires an access card, so once we get there, they'll know where we are, assuming they aren't already locked into the camera feeds. But the basement is big, dark and there's lots of places to hide. It's our best chance until we get free or help comes."

"How do you know all that?" Lucy couldn't help but ask. Up until ten minutes ago, she hadn't even been aware MI had a basement level, let alone that Christopher had a safe in her office full of weapons.

Wyatt smiled ruefully. "Part of my job is having contingencies for every situation. In case you're wondering," he continued as he popped open Christopher's office door, cleared the hallway by oscillating back and forth with the gun held out and ready, then tilted his head to the left, "the best way out of your apartment is the second floor fire escape to the alley, instead of going out through the kitchen." He was speaking softer now, as if worried someone would overhear. "Should save you about two minutes. Give or take."

Lucy just stared at him as it hadn't even occurred to her that that was a part of his job. "Wyatt, I—"

Then he froze, holding up a closed fist. Lucy had seen enough movies to know that meant stop. A split second later, Wyatt straightened up and fired twice.

The next thing Lucy knew, she was staring at the ground, hands clapped around her ears, which were physically aching. Realizing she'd turned away from the gunshot, she looked back to see a man in full tactical gear sprawled on the ground, blood welling beneath his leg.

Wyatt, thankfully not visibly harmed, was kicking the goon's gun away before bending down and…searching him?

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice sounding thick and muffled around a slight ringing in her ears.

"Getting you a vest," Wyatt huffed as he tossed a large knife and another gun out of the man's reach. He looked at the man's combat boots then at Lucy's feet before adding, "And a pair of shoes."

Lucy looked down at her strappy heels then leaned against the wall so she could kick them off. A moment later, the combat boots slid to a stop next to her.

"They're probably too big," Wyatt was saying as he sheathed the knife and clipped it to the waistband of his khakis, "but if you lace them all the way up and pull them tight at least you'll stay in them."

Lucy nodded as she slid her feet into the shoes. Wyatt had been right about the size but after she yanked long and hard on the laces, they no longer felt like they were going to slide off her feet. She had to put the safety on her gun and slide it in her pocket in order to actually tie the laces though.

"These too."

Lucy looked up to see Wyatt holding out a helmet and bulletproof vest. She nodded again then slid the helmet onto her head. She tried to do the strap but her fingers refused to cooperate. She eventually gave up in favor of the vest. It went on was much easier, though it was much heavier than she had expected and wasn't helping the already tight vice around her rib cage.

Wyatt leaned in and buckled the helmet, then adjusted one of the Velcro straps to the vest. The vice loosed slightly and Lucy exhaled in a fleeting sense of relief.

"Thanks," she said and received a quick nod in response.

"You ready?" Wyatt had just asked before they both heard a horde of footsteps pounding down the hallway toward them.

"Cover your ears," the soldier ordered, waiting only a split second before firing six times. There were four separate crackling sounds, which Lucy belatedly realized were the hallway cameras.

Then Wyatt's hands were on her shoulders, pulling her hands away from her ears. She looked up to find his face inches from hers. "Get down to the basement," he instructed, shoving a rectangular card into her left hand and the gun from her skirt back into her right. "Find someplace small, someplace hard to get to."

 _He was leaving her._ "No, Wyatt!"

"We don't have a choice. I'll lead them away from you, spread them out, then I'll come find you."

Hot tears, which she'd been so carefully hiding up until this point, were threatening to spill down her face. Amy, maybe Christopher and Rufus, and now Wyatt? She firmly believed in all the good she could do as a professor and even now as a historian, but she wasn't self-absorbed enough to think she was worth of all this. "Wyatt, you can't…"

His hands were on the sides of her face, forcing her to look at him. "I. Will. Find. You," he promised, staring directly into her eyes. "I swear."

A door banged open on the other end of the hallway, causing his gaze to flit away for a split second.

"We'll use a code word. Green for 'good', blue for 'bad'. If you hear 'blue', you stay hidden no matter what happens."

"Wyatt—"

He was focused on her again, his expression unreadable. "Tell me the color for good."

"Green," she forced herself to say in lieu of the rest of her protest.

"Right." Wyatt brushed his thumb along her cheek before he released her. "You need to go," he then stated, pushing her toward the stairwell door at the end of the hallway. "Now!"

Her feet were moving down the hallway without her brain or heart's consent. "Be careful," she pleaded before she got too far out of range.

"Yes, ma'am," was the last thing she heard before the stairwell door banged closed behind her.

* * *

 **Happy New Year, Timeless fandom! I realize I'm almost two months late but I hope you enjoy the NYE story anyway.**

 **Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought (and how excited you all are for the premiere on March 11th)!**


	2. Chapter 2

**You all are amazing! Thank you so much for your wonderful comments and kudos! I'm blown away by your kind feedback!**

 **I promise I will respond to each review individually but I wanted to get you this update first.** **Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 _Present..._

Footsteps echoed on the tile floor outside the linen closet and Lucy sucked in a quick breath, trying not to make a sound.

Then whoever was outside her door spoke: "It's green Lucy. All's good."

The historian almost sobbed with relief. She dropped the gun, scrambled to her feet, and threw open the door to find Wyatt standing in front of her, backlit only by emergency lighting in the hall. Without a second's hesitation, Lucy launched herself at him.

It was only when she crashed into his newly acquired bulletproof vest, leaving both of them gasping for breath and Wyatt stumbling back to support them, that Lucy realized that might have been a bad idea. She opened her mouth to apologize but was cut off by Wyatt wrapping one arm around her and pulling her close.

That was when Lucy felt hot tears burning her eyes and she swiped at them in embarrassment.

"Hey, you're okay," Wyatt whispered, his breathes short and fast against her ear. "But we need to get back in the closet. I took out four of them but there is probably more."

"We can't hide forever," Lucy replied, surprising herself with the deceptive steadiness of her voice. "At some point—"

"'At some point', nothing. We'll figure this out, I promise." Then Wyatt shifted slightly, loosening Lucy's grip. "And we're not hiding. We're strategizing. Haven't you ever seen _Die Hard_?"

"Not my kind of movie," Lucy mumbled before she straightened up and took a deep breath—well as deep as she could take with the vest cinching her rib cage. Embarrassment over her minor meltdown burned through her chest but, with great effort, she pushed it away; there would be time to deal with that once they got out of here. "So what's—"

She immediately bit off the rest of her words when Wyatt tensed and drew his gun.

"We don't have much time," he whispered before he stepped into the closet and yanked on the lower shelving unit in the linen closet, managing to slide it away from the wall. "Get behind there."

She'd heard that tone many times and knew arguing would do her no good so she bit down on her retort and silently shimmied into the small space behind the bookcase.

"There's room for you," she said as she pulled her knees to her chest. Even as she said it though, she knew it was a lie: with the shelving unit away from the wall, there would barely be enough room left for Wyatt to stand, let alone hide. It was better than the alternative though.

She had just poked her head up to say as much when a pile of towels rained down on her.

"Stay hidden and don't say anything," Wyatt ordered.

Lucy shoved the towels aside, which allowed her to see the soldier still standing in the outer room, his gun trained on the door. "Get in here!" she hissed.

A split second later, Wyatt cursed under his breath and grabbed at the closet door. He pulled it along with him as he hurried into the closet itself and crouched in front of the bookcase.

"We can move the—" Lucy began softly as she tried to press herself more tightly to the wall, but she was cut off by Wyatt putting a finger to his lips and closing the closet door with the faintest of clicks.

In the complete darkness, Lucy only heard Wyatt shift before his hand landed on her knee. "You okay?" he asked, so softly she barely heard him.

Unable to make her mouth work, she just nodded.

"I'm going to assume that's a yes."

Then Wyatt's hand tightened on her knee, signalling her to stay quiet. A split second later, Lucy heard a faint set of approaching footsteps and Wyatt's hand disappeared from her skin. The footsteps came closer, only audible in the otherwise eerie silence of the room, and Lucy once again found herself holding her breath, not wanting to give away their position. Then, just to the right of the door, the steps stopped.

Wyatt lurched to his feet, throwing open the door and firing his weapon in one smooth motion. Even partially surrounded by the towels, Lucy still shrugged away from the earsplitting bang. Through the muffled ringing, she heard someone—thankfully not Wyatt—screaming and, by the time she'd straightened up again, Wyatt had disappeared from the doorway.

As much as it pained her, Lucy stayed hidden, deferring once again to Wyatt's military training to keep them safe. Though Wyatt had put both her and Rufus through self-defense training after their trip to 1893, she knew she wouldn't stand a chance against the fully-trained Rittenhouse agents.

That logic didn't make it any easier to sit and listen as Wyatt and the agent began to struggle. When one particularly painful-sounding hit landed, Lucy almost called Wyatt's name in concern. At the last moment though, she bit her lip so hard it began to bleed, knowing she couldn't give away her position or distract her teammate.

After two more blows were exchanged, someone crashed into the door, slamming it shut. That same person slowly slid to the floor and Lucy wasn't at all reassured by Wyatt's lack of confirmation that he was alright.

Then a gun was being cocked—a sound Lucy hated that she recognized—before someone—not Wyatt—growled, "Where is she?"

"Where is who?" Wyatt asked innocently.

There was a painful-sounding thump and Lucy drove her teeth further into her bottom lip to keep from crying out. Wyatt was taking these blows for her, to protect her. She knew without a doubt he wasn't going to give up her position, which meant she had to do something before he died on her behalf.

She quietly shifted so she was looking around the left side of the shelving unit then scanned the room for the gun she had dropped when Wyatt had returned. After a beat, she spotted a dull gleam on the far side of the shelving unit, close to where Wyatt had just been crouching.

"I'm not in the mood for wit. Where is Lucy Preston?" the second voice said, much closer this time than before.

Unfortunately, from this angle, Lucy could see that, even if she could get to the gun, it was far too wide to pass under the doorway to get it to Wyatt. She considered using it herself but almost immediately decided against it, since she didn't know where exactly Wyatt or his attacker were on the other side of the door.

There had to be something else in the room she could use. Lucy took another look and spotted a thin metal rod with black connectors on each end, not dissimilar to a piece of a portable clothes drying rank, standing in the corner. It wasn't much of a weapon but was definitely small enough to fit under the door.

While Lucy contorted her body around the shelving unit to reach for it, Wyatt spoke up again: "Don't know her."

Just as Lucy's fingers closed around the rod, there was another smack, this one hard enough to rattle the door. The rod slipped from Lucy's fingers and it was only by sheer luck that she caught it before it cracked against the shelf.

"I won't ask again," the other man growled.

Licking her lips nervously, Lucy slowly lowered the rod to the floor and began pushing it toward the door, centering it on the shadow in the space between the bottom of the door and the floor.

"The agents got her out," Wyatt gasped. "Second floor fire escape. Before you even arrived."

Another whack and this time Wyatt groaned.

Rage surged past the barriers Lucy had so carefully constructed and it took everything she had in her to keep from springing up and charging out there. _Giving Wyatt the weapon was the better plan,_ she repeated to herself. _He had visibility, options._ But she had to act fast.

"I don't believe you," the voice sneered. "You have one more chance to tell me where she is, Wyatt."

Lucy was practically lying flat on the floor now and, from her sideways angle, she could see that the rod was now far enough under the door for Wyatt to grab. With her last few inches, she pushed it out of her reach, hoping it had gotten far enough to alert him to its presence.

The only thing she could do now was to pray he understood her plan and wait for him to act.

"No," Wyatt replied before the rod was yanked under the door. There was a loud thwack then gunfire and Wyatt's shadow disappeared.

As another fight ensued, Lucy reached along the shelving unit and grabbed the discarded gun; she hated that she was somewhat reassured by the weight of it in her hands and the way it quelled some of the uneasy pounding in her chest.

Outside, there were two more thwacks then a thunk, a crash then heavy harsh panting. A split second later, the door flew open and Lucy jerked up the gun, her finger moving toward the trigger.

"Don't shoot!" the man in the doorway said as he threw up his hands.

Recognizing Wyatt, Lucy dropped the gun so quickly it was as if the metal had burned her.

"Are you okay?" she demanded as she tried wriggled out from behind the shelving unit. Unfortunately her first attempt was less than successful, but that was mostly because her eyes were locked on Wyatt, trying to see how badly he was hurt in the weak emergency lighting.

"I'll live." Then he stretched out his hand and helped her to her feet. "Are you?" Wyatt then asked, dropping his head slightly to squint at her and jerkily pushing her hair out of her face.

In this tight proximity, Lucy was able to spot the dark streaks of blood on the lower half of his face.

"Wyatt—" she began with a wince. Her hand on its way to his face to determine just how bad he was hurt when he ducked his head out of her path.

"Are. _You._ Okay?" he repeated, almost desperately.

"Wyatt, I'm fine." To prove her point, Lucy took his hand hovering inches from her cheek and was surprised by a faint tremble. "But you're—"

"—fine." Then Wyatt's expression hardened. "Grab your gun. We gotta keep moving." He had barely waited for her to retrieve her weapon before grabbing her other hand and tugging her out the door.

* * *

They moved at breakneck speed down the hallway to the left, twisting and turning until they were in the middle of the building. Just when Lucy thought she couldn't run anymore, Wyatt slowed to a fast walk, giving her a chance to catch her breath as silently as she could.

"Where are we going?" she whispered.

"Kitchen," was all Wyatt replied.

Lucy had been ready to accept that as the full answer when, a beat later, he added, "Lots of places for you…to hide. Hope you don't mind…being cold."

There was an unusual pacing to Wyatt's voice but Lucy chalked it up to their unplanned sprint. Well, at least she was going to, before her brain reminded her of the hits she'd heard him take.

She had just opened her mouth to ask when he shoved her against the wall, knocking the wind out of her. Through the stars dancing in her vision, she saw him whip around the corner and fire twice. There was a loud scream then a crash and Lucy stumbled around the corner to find a Rittenhouse agent sprawled on the ground, bleeding from the thigh.

"Sorry…'bout that," Wyatt panted as he knocked away the man's gun.

"It's okay," she replied, more on reflex than anything else. As with all the other fallen agents, she kept her distance while Wyatt did his search and seizure routine with their weapons. He had just clipped a rather large sheath to his other side and was in the process of straightening up when he listed to the right and crashed into the nearby wall.

Lucy was at his side in an instant, her heart lodged in her throat.

"What's wrong?" she demanded, barely keeping herself from shouting. It was then she noticed his short, fast breaths and the shine of his face in the floor lights.

"Just gotta…catch my breath." His words were soft and breathy and did little to assuage the fear building up inside her.

"What happened?" she repeated, a little more firmly. "And don't you dare lie to me," she added as he opened his mouth.

Wyatt looked up at her, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly, then ground out, "Cracked a few ribs. Breathing isn't fun but I'll live." As if to prove his point, the soldier pulled in a shallow breath then straightened up with a grunt.

"How did you—"

"We can do twenty questions l'ter." With that, Wyatt grabbed her arm and pulled her down the hall.

"Wyatt…" Lucy tried again but the soldier was dead set on ignoring her concern. She scowled but followed behind him, intent on getting her answer when they were less exposed.

Just before the hallway opened into a wide space, Wyatt stopped, which Lucy wouldn't have found unusual under normal circumstances. Now however she looked over to see him staring blankly at the room in front of him. Before she could say anything though, Wyatt blinked and continued forward, pressing himself tightly against the wall as he turned the corner.

By this point, Lucy knew Wyatt was more seriously injured than he was letting on. Unfortunately, they weren't in an environment that would let either of them do anything about it. When they got to the kitchen, when they were _safe_ again, Lucy could see if there was anything she could do to help him. Until then, they had to continue and Lucy silently vowed to do whatever it took to keep Wyatt from injuring himself further.

"Watch our surroundings, not me," Wyatt huffed, snapping her from her thoughts.

In the interest of her new decision, Lucy just nodded and tightened her grip on her gun.

She watched as he did the same maneuver with the nearby stairwell door that he'd done countless times up to this point. When there was no ensuing attack, Wyatt stepped into the stairwell and cleared the landings around them.

"Second floor kitchen has'a largest freezer."

The apparent randomness of that statement caught Lucy off-guard and it took her a beat to understand that it was connected to the conversation they had been having before Wyatt lost his balance. By that time though, Wyatt had already started up the steps, swinging his gun between the landing above them and the door they'd just come through. Lucy had no choice but to race to catch up, mostly so she would be out of firing range in case Rittenhouse did follow.

It was because of this proximity that she felt him stumble on the stairs. On instinct, she pushed forward, pinning his body between her and the railing to keep him upright.

He cursed, which she immediately echoed once she realized what she'd done. "Your ribs."

"Fine," he grunted, which Lucy now understood to mean he was lying through his teeth.

"I'm sorry," she began but Wyatt just waved her off. After a second to catch his breath, he continued climbing and waved for her to follow.

Thankfully they made it up to the second floor without incident. At the stairwell door, Wyatt carefully examined the jamb before pressing his ear against the door itself. "It's clear," he whispered after a painfully long moment.

Lucy took that as her cue to take the last few steps and stand next to Wyatt, furthest away from the door. He held up one, then two, then finally three fingers before popping open the door.

The pair waited with baited breath, guns pointed at whatever would come through the doorway, but thankfully there was no sound from the floor. Wyatt motioned for Lucy to wait then burst into the room.

"Clear," he whispered not long after, so Lucy entered as well.

They moved as a one unit around the ping pong table and were on the way to the kitchen when Wyatt stumbled over nothing. He barely caught himself on a fabric cubicle liner but lost his grip on his gun, which skittered down the aisle.

That was when Lucy's "wait until we're safe to get more details about what was wrong with Wyatt" plan fell apart.

"Talk to me!" she hissed as loudly as she dared but the soldier didn't respond. In fact, he didn't even move, remaining draped over the fabric divider, chest heaving.

Lucy leaned over the divider as well, trying to get a glimpse of Wyatt's face. With the way his head was ducked, she couldn't see anything from her current angle so she tilted a little more forward, anchoring herself by resting a hand on Wyatt's back. A second before her hand made contact, she remembered his earlier confusion and tried to short-circuit the motion.

It was too late. Wyatt jerked away from her touch and careened into the end of the divider of the next block of cubicles. Lucy saw his hand move up toward his gun and took a step back, prepared to dive into the previous aisle to get out of the line of fire.

"Wyatt!" she hissed desperately, hoping he would snap out of it. Lucy was pretty sure her voice had almost a hysterical edge but she couldn't help it, not with her teammate acting so strangely. "It's me, it's Lucy!"

Thankfully, Wyatt's hand froze just inches from his shoulder holster and his gaze slowly rose until he was looking at her face. He blinked a few times before slurring, "Lucy."

The historian wasn't at all reassured when it sounded more a question than a statement.

"Yeah, Wyatt, I'm here. _What's wrong_?" she repeated. She wanted to step closer and try to help him but not if he was going to pull a gun on her; she wouldn't be able to help him if she herself was injured.

He swayed a little to the right before he managed to reorient himself. "Chest 'urts," he finally replied, which was obviously the understatement of the year based on how unevenly he was breathing.

"I don't know what to do, Wyatt. I don't know how to help you."

The soldier just stared back at her, his mouth moving but not making any audible sound. Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed in a boneless heap.


	3. Chapter 3

"Wyatt!" Lucy was well aware that her exclamation was bordering on a shriek but she was beyond caring at this point. She fell to her knees beside her teammate and, in the interest of not repeating her earlier mistake, removed all of his weapons before she pressed a trembling pair of fingers to his side of his throat. His skin was cold and clammy but an artery throbbed weakly beneath.

Reassured that he was still breathing, Lucy began looking for anything that could have caused his sudden loss in consciousness. He was bleeding sure, from an assortment of places, but no wound looked serious enough to cause Wyatt to pass out from blood loss. He'd mentioned cracked ribs but Lucy couldn't find any other broken bones. She didn't delve under the vest though, figuring that any compression there could only help the already known rib injury. She then ran her hands through his hair but couldn't find any bumps or bleeds there either. Unfortunately these discoveries only served to make her more worried: bleeds she could bandage and bones she could splint, thanks to a few basic first-aid courses Wyatt had put her and Rufus through, but for this mystery injury, she was useless.

Lucy shook Wyatt's shoulder harder than she probably should have and called his name as loudly as she dared. They were incredibly lucky that no one had raced up here after hearing her shriek Wyatt's name and she wasn't keen on tempting fate.

Unfortunately, after a full minute of shaking and pleading, Wyatt remained unconscious.

To make matters worse, that was when Lucy heard the door to the stairwell open. She whipped around but didn't see any additional light in the rec area, which meant someone had entered the staircase at a different floor. Her relief was momentary at best since, though they weren't in direct path of the stairwell door, they weren't well hidden. It would buy them some time though.

Lucy looked back down at Wyatt, muttered "sorry", then slapped him across the face. Her hand stung with the force but unfortunately the soldier didn't respond in the slightest.

Her heart sank as all the implications of that flashed through her brain, but she couldn't allow herself to dwell on it. With Wyatt truly unconscious, it would be up to her to find a way to get them to safety.

Lucy quickly considered her options: she wasn't strong enough to carry Wyatt and dragging him would be both slow and probably worsen his injuries. That left putting Wyatt in something mobile and pushing him to safety. Lucy scanned the room and spotted a rolling chair two cubicles away. "I'll be right back, okay?" she said, more for her own benefit than for Wyatt's.

By the time she'd rolled the chair back, the footsteps in the stairwell had grown much louder, and Lucy knew she was running out of time.

To this day, she still wasn't sure how she did it, but she managed to get Wyatt slumped in the chair with his legs hanging over one armrest and his head over the other. She spared a second to stuff two of his abandoned guns into the waist of her skirt and kick the knives under a desk before she sprinted down the hallway with one hand pressing Wyatt's head against the back of the chair to keep him from developing whiplash. Lucy winced at the loudness of the chair's wheels against the tile but she didn't stop. Even with her limited experience, she knew it was better to get to cover at this point than to keep up the stealth.

She had only been to the Mason Industries kitchen a couple times in the past and was always with Rufus or Jiya who had effortlessly led the way. Today though, luck was on her side as she found the way there with only a minor hesitation at a T-shaped intersection. She immediately pushed Wyatt through the swinging doors then bolted the doors into the floor behind them.

 _The freezer_ , Wyatt had said. It seemed like a terrible idea to her, especially now that he was unconscious, but she trusted in his plan.

Lucy took a quick scan of the kitchen and spotted the reinforced door off to the far right. After rolling Wyatt over there, Lucy popped the handle on the walk-in freezer and winced as the icy air hit her exposed skin. She had no idea how cold the freezer was exactly but knew they, especially Wyatt in his current state, were going to need some protection to keep from freezing to death. She spotted a stack of tablecloths on a nearby shelf and grabbed as many as she could carry before pushing Wyatt into the freezer and pulling the door closed behind them.

She then turned around and was surprised to find Wyatt decently upright in the chair and staring owlishly at her. "L'cy?" he slurred, head lolling left then right. "W'are we?"

"In the freezer like you said." Lucy immediately dropped the stack of tablecloths, unfurled the top two then draped them over Wyatt, who looked at them in confusion, before lifting one arm to yank them off.

"Leave it. They'll keep you warm," Lucy instructed as she batted away his hands. She kept up her hand in case he tried again but he'd apparently moved on, eyes widening as he stared at the racks of food around them.

"Why're we freezer?" he mumbled, barely comprehensible.

Lucy had just begun to respond when his head dropped against his chest and he pitched forward. With panic surging through her veins, Lucy raced over and grabbed the back of Wyatt's bulletproof vest, hauling him upright again. She left one hand holding Wyatt in place against the back of the chair and stabbed the fingers of her other into his neck. It took her two tries to find his pulse, a combination of the cold atmosphere and her shaking fingers, but it was there, slow and steady.

She gently tilted his head back over the chair then released the hand holding him upright, hoping he'd stay, but Wyatt just tilted forward again. Cursing under her breath, Lucy considered her options, then sacrificed one of the tablecloths she was using as blankets in order to use secure Wyatt to the chair. With the 1972 incident fresh in her mind, she just looped the tablecloth under his arms, leaving his hands free, then she spread out the ends to cover as much of his body as she could. After confirming that the tablecloth held him upright, she readjusted the second one so it was tucked under his chin then around his body as much as possible.

It was the definition of "not much" but it was the best she could do for now.

Lucy turned her attention back to the freezer door, which for obvious reasons didn't lock from the inside. She had no idea if this was movie physics, but in the last Bourne movie she had seen, the female lead had wrapped a labcoat around the knob to keep it from depressing. It was as good an idea as any so Lucy set out to do the same. Something harder to stick under the knob, like a solid wood chair, would have been preferable but the tablecloths were going to have to do.

Lucy wound one as tightly as she could around the thin rod connecting the large circular knob to the door, then tied it off to the support of the closest shelving unit. She did the same with the second sheet, except she wrapped it clockwise instead of counterclockwise before tying it off as well. She tried pushing the knob and was pleased to see that it only depressed a little.

Lucy then bundled herself in the last two sheets before pushing Wyatt into the far corner, where she sat down beside him and once again took his pulse. It might have been her imagination but it felt slower to her. For a brief second, she stared down at the fistfuls of tablecloths at her throat then released the outermost one and draped it over Wyatt instead.

She curled her knees into her chest and crossed her arms over her knees, so the remaining tablecloth wrapped around her like a small tent. After shifting the grip on the tablecloths to just her left hand, Lucy ducked her head into the tent and pulled out her phone with her right. The screen lit up but the slash through the bars at the top revealed she still didn't have a signal. She toggled the "always on" display, put the device face up on the ground then slid it under the blanket so she could quickly spot any changes in the signal. Next, she freed the two guns from her skirt. She kept one in the warmth beneath her knees but pulled up the second so it rested on her crossed forearms.

Her stomach clenched as she clicked off the safety but she took a deep breath and forced herself to channel her inner soldier. She could do this for Wyatt; she could keep him safe.

And so she sat there, gun trained on the door, as her teeth began to rattle, as she lost feeling in her nose, as her fingers began to go numb. The numbers clicked by on her phone but they had no meaning. It was like she was in a daze—nothing existed but her injured teammate beside her and whoever might be coming through that door.

Her heartbeat eventually stopped punching her ribs, which she thought was a good thing until one small portion of her brain volunteered that it probably wasn't, that it was her body was shutting itself down in the cold. She ignored it.

Wyatt was barely breathing; even in the darkness, she was sure of that much. She could hardly feel his breath against her hand when she held it in front of his mouth. She'd had to resort to that method when she could no longer feel his pulse with her fingers or feel her fingers in general.

Then she heard a noise outside the freezer and Lucy choked back a sob, her nerveless fingers tightening around the gun. Then someone was shouting and she thought she recognized the voice—obviously she was losing her grip on consciousness because Rittenhouse wouldn't be shouting her name so freely.

But the voice kept yelling. Loudly.

Maybe they'd gone rogue or finally cracked.

The voice was louder, closer, and she could hear what was being said more clearly. Someone was calling her name and…what was that?

"Where are you? We're safe!"

It was a trap. It had to be.

The gun slipped in her hands and Lucy wrapped a corner of the sheet more tightly around her palm before readjusting her grip.

Pull the trigger, slow and steady, breathe evenly. That's what Wyatt had taught her. That's how she would do it, if it came down to it.

"Lucy? Wyatt? Where are you? The FBI is here. We're safe."

It was definitely Rufus' voice and he sounded like he was telling the truth. It would probably come back to bite her but Lucy cautiously let herself consider that possibility. She'd stay quiet though until she was sure.

Then someone was yanking on the freezer door but thankfully, her tablecloth concoction held.

A split second later, Rufus' face appeared in the small glass cutout. "It's okay Lucy, we're safe. The FBI is here," he repeated. Then his gaze lifted. "Oh shit, Wyatt."

That was when Lucy realized she could see his face, which meant the lights were back on. As if on cue, her phone chirped and she looked down to see a series of missed calls; she had service again.

Based on what'd she'd seen in the movies, restoring the power and the cell signals were some of the first things a rescue team did after securing the villains. Maybe Rufus _was_ telling the truth. He had never really lied to her. Just omitted some key details. But that was different right?

Lucy cautiously stood up, grabbing at the freezing shelving units when her knees initially refused to bear her weight. She stumbled toward the door then shifted the gun to her left hand so she could try to undo the knots in the tablecloths. Unfortunately, she only succeeded in sliding her frozen hand up and down the knot instead of actually untying it.

"I need help," she said, looking up at the window.

Thankfully Rufus just nodded. "Okay, we'll figure it out—they're in here! Just stay awake okay?"

"Okay," she mumbled and something warm slid down her face. Then the words all raced out of her mouth at once, the proverbial dam having finally broken. "Wyatt's hurt. Something about broken ribs," she stuttered out through her chattering teeth.

Rufus' face disappeared from the window and someone, maybe more than one someone based on the shouting, was pulling on the door. The sheets began to tear.

A few large pulls later and the door ripped open. Rufus was inside the freezer in an instant, followed by two people in full tactical gear.

Suddenly Rufus was holding her gun, leaving her empty hand pointing uselessly at the door; she hadn't even realized she'd raised it. "They're with us. They're FBI," he said as he pulled her into a hug with his free hand. "We need to get you warmed up."

He started to guide her toward the door but Lucy dug in her heels. "We can't leave Wyatt," she choked out around a large lump that had suddenly taken residence in her throat.

"We got him, ma'am," one of the other men said. That was when Lucy saw the "FBI" letters emblazoned on his vest. Rufus had been telling the truth. "Let's just get you to safety."

Lucy tugged herself out of Rufus' grip and reached out toward her injured friend. "Not without Wyatt."

"They're going to take him to the med bay," Rufus intervened, stepping in front of Lucy and spinning her so she faced away from Wyatt. This left her arms crossed in front of her and her hands locked in Rufus'. "We have to let them do their jobs."

She heard a groan and looked right to see one of the men walking out of the freezer, an unresponsive Wyatt draped over his shoulders fireman-style. "His ribs," she wanted to call but her voice stuck in her throat.

The second FBI agent must have still overheard for he turned and nodded at Lucy. "We know, ma'am. We're being careful. But we need to get you out of here too."

Lucy couldn't even find the energy to be affronted. She was too tired...so tired. But she couldn't stop now, not until she knew Wyatt was safe—

"Let them worry about Wyatt," Rufus said, tightening his grip on her hands. "Let's worry about you for a minute. Are _you_ hurt?"

She shook her head.

"Okay, we're still going to get you checked out, okay? Dr. Bright is upstairs—"

Lucy opened her mouth to protest but Rufus held up one finger. "We'll check on Wyatt too, I promise. Now," Rufus released his grip on her hands then wrapped one arm tightly around her shoulder, both holding her up if she needed it and providing much needed warmth. "Let's get out of here, okay?"

"Okay," Lucy said softly as she allowed Rufus to lead her out of the kitchen and to the medbay, where hopefully news about Wyatt awaited.

* * *

It was warm, almost hot. And light—light so bright it hurt his eyes.

Wyatt screwed his eyes closed as his retinas screamed in agony.

"The light!" someone shouted right in his ear and he flinched away from the sound.

Someone was groaning—oh...that might be him.

His awareness was slow to return but eventually he gave opening his eyes another try. Lucy was hovering over him, backlit from the light in the hallway. She looked as angry as Wyatt'd ever seen her.

"What the hell was that all about?" she demanded. Wyatt couldn't figure out why she was mad. What had he done?

Then the memories of the Rittenhouse invasion came back to him with all the force of a Mack truck.

"Are you okay?" he wheezed. He rubbed at his chest to ease the pain but that only made his ribs protest more.

"Am I okay? Am _I_ okay?" Lucy was practically spitting she was so mad. " _I_ was not the one who got shot and failed to mention it. _I_ didn't have broken ribs I failed to mention until I almost passed out. _I_ didn't have one of them lacerate my spleen, which needed to be surgically repaired."

 _Lacerated spleen?_ Wyatt blinked up at her in confusion. He vividly remembered getting shot in the vest after sending Lucy to the basement but the events after getting his ass kicked by the last Rittenhouse agent were blurry and disjoined.

"You still have it by the way," Lucy added, still seething. "They fixed the tear and stopped the bleeding. And you have a dissolvable plate holding your lower ribs together until they heal." Then she visibly deflated and sunk down onto the bed beside him. "God Wyatt," she said softly. "We almost lost you."

"I'm sorry," was all he could say. "I didn't know," he added when she looked less than impressed.

"And if you had? What would have changed?"

 _Not much_ was his gut reaction but that seemed like the wrong thing to say at the moment. It wasn't like there had been a lot of downtime to deal with something like that. And he knew Lucy knew that. But he also hated that he'd made her this upset.

"How long was I out?" he mumbled, hoping for coherence as he felt his body getting lighter—whatever he was on was kicking in again.

"Two days," Lucy scowled as she swiped at her eyes.

"Hey," Wyatt shakily reached out and caught her hand. "I'm sorry, Lucy." _For all of it._ For Rittenhouse. For the position they were in every time they left in the Lifeboat. For the danger that now haunted them back home.

She just nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. That turned into her shaking her head and barking out a humorless laugh. "You got _shot!_ "

"Vest caught it." Wyatt's grip on the world shifted tenuously and he channeled all his remaining focus to get the next bit out. "Knew it cracked ribs. Didn't know 'bout t'e spleen." For some reason it was very important that she understood that.

Lucy scrubbed at her eyes then inhaled deeply through her nose. "I don't know if I can keep doing this," she said.

Wyatt fought vainly to answer but the drugs had other plans.

* * *

"Where'slucy?" he slurred as soon as he was conscious again.

Rufus pointed to the right and Wyatt lifted his head to see the historian staring levelly at him.

"You 'kay?" he asked through a mouthful of cotton.

Lucy nodded. She looked much more steady than she had…the last time he was awake. Whenever that was.

"Promise?"

She actually laughed then nodded. "Yeah. Sorry I kinda melted down last time."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Wyatt declared. For some reason, he needed her to understand that. "'Specially after what you did to save me."

Lucy looked at him in surprise. "You remember? You were barely conscious."

It was all in flashes but he was lucid enough now to piece them together. "Enough," he replied with a shrug. "What you did—" How she'd gotten him into the freezer, how she'd sat there with the gun pointed at the door, how she'd kept making sure he was breathing.

It was a position he'd never wanted her or Rufus to ever have to be in.

 _I'm sorry._

 _I owe you._

"Thank you," was what his brain decided to say.

Lucy pursed her lips, closed her eyes then shook her head. "You'd have done it for me," she said softly.

"You shouldn't've had to," he continued. Why didn't she understand how important it was for her to know that?

"Maybe if you got shot less, I _wouldn't_ have to," Lucy retorted, the corner of her mouth quirking ever so slightly toward a smile.

Suddenly Wyatt's head weighed a thousand pounds and he was forced to lay back against the pillow. "I'll work on it." After a second to gather his remaining strength, he rolled his head to the side to keep looking at Lucy, which felt like a great compromise until his neck vehemently objected. "You gonna be okay? Really?" It can't have been easy for her to do what she did. Especially after 1882.

"Eventually."

He was surprised by her honest answer. For now, it was as good as he could hope for, but he planned on checking in with her again when an IV wasn't in his arm, just to be sure nothing had changed.

"E'ryone else okay?"

"Yeah," Rufus piped up from behind him. "Caren from HR has a broken arm but everyone else has just cuts and bruises."

"They got 'em?"

"Every last one. They're being prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."

"Good. 's good." Wyatt's eyelids joined the thousand-pound club and he knew he didn't have long before he passed out again. He fought against it though because it seemed _so_ important that he stay awake.

Then there was a hand on his.

"Go to sleep Wyatt," Lucy said as she began rubbing soothing paths over the back of his hand with her thumb. "We'll be here when you wake up."

The soldier couldn't even merit a nod before he drifted off, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that his team had his back.

That didn't mean he wouldn't be working with Mason to ramp up his security so something like this never happened again.

Just as soon as he took a nap.

* * *

 **And that's the end of _At All Costs_! Thanks to everyone who gave this story a chance! I am beyond grateful for all your kind words and notifications. Be on the lookout for responses from me soon!**

 **Special kudos to cairistonia who beta-read this for me and thus encouraged me to actually post before the season two premiere.**

 **Finally, if anyone is interested, registration for the second annual Timeless Big Bang is now open! Check out timelessbigbang . tumblr . com to see deadlines and requirements. I'm sure there will be plenty to write about after watching the next season!**

 **Happy almost premiere day!**


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